Indecision
by SpectrumLove
Summary: Life has taken one too many wrong turns for Wendy, but she's determined to make it right. But can she overcome the odds to finally find her happy ending, or will she end up stuck in her ways? Basically any pairing goes. Rated T for future content.
1. The Beginning of the End

**This Chapter's Author Is:**

**Spectrum Larka**

**Disclaimer: I don't own South Park or much else, for that matter.**

"Mom, I'm really thirsty."

Kids. "Honey, you have a glass of water on your bedside table."

"I drank that," he whined, in a voice so close to his father's I almost forgot who I was speaking to. "I need more."

"You can go get your own, sweetie," I turned over, hoping to get at least one more hour of sleep. I never got enough sleep these days, and I struggled to hold on to my warm bed, my delightfully soft pillow. "You know where the refrigerator is."

"But Mooom," he whined, clutching at his teddy bear. "There's a monster that lives in the kitchen. I've heard it!"

I finally opened my eyes, which were heavy with sleep. There he was, his black hair mussed up from sleep. He looked at me with his puppy dog eyes and his blue-and-white pajamas, clutching onto his little teddy for dear life.

"Okay, okay," I gave in, glancing at the flashing alarm clock as I rose. 4 AM. I new record. I felt like I'd slept in.

I shuffled into the kitchen, the cold linoleum stinging my bare feet. A quick glimpse to my left told me my husband was out. His side of the bed was made perfect, and untouched.

I grabbed one of our old cups, a mug that read **Paul Blart: Mall Cop**. It'd been a promotional item he'd snagged when he went to see the movie. I filled it up to the brim with some tap water and handed it to my son, who grabbed it with his grubby hands and drank half of it in one gulp.

"Alright, sweetheart, back to bed," I ushered my son back into his room, which I tried to avoid looking into.

I'd always wanted to provide for my kids, so looking into it left a pang in my heart. A single bed, a few stuffed animals, a cracked window. I swallowed and looked away as my son crawled back into his bed.

I made my way back to my empty bed and lay their, staring at the ceiling. It was cold, and I was grateful for the warmth my blankets provided. Still, it would be even warmer if my husband were here.

The door creaked open, about a half hour later, and the thudding footsteps let me know my husband was home. I listened to the shuffle of him take off his heavy boots, as he slid in his socks across the floor. I listened to the telltale clink as he set down empty beer bottles on our little kitchen table, as he moved to the sink to wash whatever grime was on his hands off.

I got up, stretching, and wrapped myself in our heavy bedcover. I was prepared for the usual: the accusations, the harsh whispers, until one of us raised our voices loud enough for our son to hear.

I heard him coming nearer and I sat on the bed, bracing myself for what was to come.

He entered the door carefully and flicked on the light. When he saw me, he smiled. "Oh...hey W-Wen..."

"You're drunk." His smile was too wide, and his eyes slid glassily around the room. As he stepped towards me, taking off his winter coat and scarf, he stumbled.

"Aw, Wen, c'mon," he slurred, finally fumbling off his jacket and scarf and landing on the floor. "There wash a big...a big...hey...I love that shirt on you..."

"You're never home on time," I told him, remembering the hundreds of other times I'd said this. "You're drunk every night, and it has a horrible effect on our son."

"Oh yeah?" He stood up, wobbling. "Well, I'd like to see _you _go out...and...and work your ass off, off. A factory? You've got soft hands, see...washing and cleaning, all you...oh..."

He held his hands over his mouth and rushed into our bathroom. I sighed, listening to him vomit his guts out into our toilet.

"Mom?" I didn't hear him, but my little one had crept into my room. He looked frightened. "I heard the monster in the kitchen again."

So that's what he'd been hearing. "That's not a monster, honey, that's daddy."

"O-Oh," a tiny smile lit up his face. "C-Can I say hi to daddy?"

"Not now, sweetie," I smiled. "Daddy and Mommy are very tired. But I promise you and him can have breakfast this morning, okay?"

"A-Alright," he said, crestfallen. I ushered him out of the room before he could see what a state his father was in.

My husband lurched out of the bathroom, looking sick as a dog. Despite what he'd done, I felt so sorry for him. I did love him, after all.

"You should lie down," I told him. "I'm sorry, but money's been tight lately--I can see why you'd want to...Listen, we can all have breakfast tomorrow and work it out."

I stepped forward to help him, and his eyes rolled around numbly in his head. He stumbled forward, and I caught him, and looked my husband straight in his eyes.

Eric Cartman.

When I was younger looking into his eyes had made me violently sick. Such a racist, inconsiderate bastard. We'd always had conflicting views, yet I'd been drawn to him. I couldn't imagine how he could like the things he did, and I'd always debated with him. We disagreed, but we were both passionate...about our own things.

Eric swayed on his feet and then collapsed onto our bed. I leaned forward and gently eased off his shirt. He'd lost most of his weight since childhood with my careful coaching and our lack of food combined, but he still had some of his original chubbiness.

He half-crawled, half-rolled onto his side of the bed and wormed his way under the covers. I slid in next to him in my rightful place.

Eric leaned into me and wrapped his arms around me. If I closed my eyes very tight (and, of course, ignored the stench of alcohol) it was like he was holding me again, like it was before we'd had little Eric Cartman, Jr. It was like, for a split second, I was happy.

* * *

**A/N; You guys like? I worked very hard. ENJOY IT!! And please, for the love of Larka the wolf, South Park, God, and Triceratops, please review.**


	2. Good Morning, Sunshine

**Chapter Author: **

**Blazelove**

The next morning, I awoke with a start to Eric's alarm clock, ringing in my ears. He grumbled and slowly lifted his head up before slamming the top of the clock, leaving the room silent. I groaned and pulled the sheets farther up my torso, trying to force myself back to sleep. I was happy I had gotten any sleep at all, with the combined efforts of Eric's work schedule and Eric _Cartman_, Jr., my chances of ever being able to get a full night's sleep were lower than ever. Eric was already in the bathroom, the rusty shower handle screeching followed by the sound of gushing water. Our water heater was garbage, and I would usually get woken up again by Eric wailing "God dammit!".

I opened my eyes, my head pounding. I decided I might as well just get up, it wasn't long before Eric Cartman, Jr. would come bursting into my bedroom door, demanding breakfast. I crawled out of bed and made my way towards a mirror, gazing at my frizzy mess of black hair, and my deep bags under my eyes from extreme lack of sleep. I rubbed my swollen eyes, blinking constantly to adjust them. I looked down at my lavender nightgown and pressed down on the wrinkles. I was starving as well, but the thought of food made me sick to the stomach. I stumbled to the dresser to change out of my pajamas, thinking I would feel better after changing.

I pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, searching for something to wear. I dug through the drawer feeling blind, and realized I should have turned the light on. I turned the knob on our desk lamp with a _click_, and dim light filled the room. I looked back in the drawer and my hand felt something hard. I grabbed it and yanked it out, and gasped when I found a frame. The photo was of me and Stan Marsh, my childhood boyfriend. I had framed the photos we took at a photo booth on one of our dates, with six square photos on one page. I held back my tears and shoved the picture frame deep back in the drawer, throwing those memories away. I loved Eric. I couldn't go back to Stan after how much I hurt him, nor would I want to. He would probably vomit on me on our wedding kiss if things had gone farther.

I pulled out a tight long sleeve shirt, dark green with faint grey stripes. This shirt always reminded me of mint chocolate chip ice cream, when I still could stomach it. It was much to sweet for me now, along with several other foods I used to adore. I pulled out a pair of black cotton pants and slid off my nightgown. I pulled the shirt over my head, the long sleeves gripping close to my skin. The black pants hung loosely around my legs, covering most of my feet. I made my way towards the bedroom door and opened it, Eric Cartman, Jr. standing there. He looked up at me immediately, and jumped when he saw me.

"H-how long have you been out here…?" I yawned, and rubbed my eyes again.

"I wait until you wake up," he muttered.

_That's a change… _I thought to myself.

"_Breakfast?"_ he whined subsequently.

I nodded. "Fine, fine..."

I lurched towards the kitchen as Eric Cartman, Jr. ran after me, squealing. He jumped up and down as he held onto the edge of the kitchen counter.

"I want eggs! I want eggs!" he demanded.

"Okay…" I mumbled.

I heard footsteps and moaning from the living room, and Eric Cartman, Jr. perked his head up.

"Daddy, _daddy!_" He screamed, running after him.

"H-hey…" Eric replied, picking him up as he ran towards him.

Eric Cartman, Jr. squealed with glee as Eric spun him around in his arms. He put him back on the carpet.

"Daddy has to go to work…" Eric sighed, followed by Eric Cartman, Jr.'s whining.

Eric walked into the kitchen, his son following him and tugging at his pant legs. I looked up before I could crack an egg and smiled as he wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my forehead.

"Bye, Wends," he cooed. I smiled weakly, still overwhelmed with exhaustion. He made his way out the door, Eric Cartman, Jr. collapsing at the front door as Eric closed it. He pounded on the door and shrieked.

"_DAAAADDYYY!" _he wailed.

I held my ears and stopped mixing the raw eggs. I sighed and marched to the front door, picking up Eric Cartman, Jr. who was flailing uncontrollably.

"Put me _down!_" he shrieked.

"Eric, you do this every morning! _Stop it_!" I demanded, raising my voice.

He quieted down and looked up at me, tears flowing down his face.

"There…" I sighed, and let go of him. He plopped on the floor and lied down.

He whimpered, somewhat like a puppy, and sat up.

"Sowwy," he sniffled, trying to look cute by mispronouncing his "r"'s.

"It's okay, just learn to behave yourself better. You're going to drive Mommy insane," I persuaded.

He nodded and stood up again, off and running. He jumped on top of our white and green sofa, squealing as he bounced.

"Wheeee!" he shrieked, and then looked my direction.

"Mommy, mommy! Television!" he whined.

I rolled my eyes and picked up the remote, turning to Nick Jr. where Dora the Explorer was playing. He clapped and stopped his bouncing, locked in a TV trance. I went back into the kitchen to continue preparing his breakfast, stretching and yawning as I walked. I continued to whisk the raw eggs, and poured them onto the lit skillet to fry. I heard Eric Cartman, Jr. sing along with the words to songs that played on Dora the Explorer.

"We did it! We did it! Yeah!" he giggled.

It made me smile a bit, one thing I hardly did anymore.

I scooped Eric Cartman, Jr.'s breakfast onto a plastic Ikea plate, and put it in front of him on the coffee table. He slid off the couch and began to chew his eggs, still not looking away from the television. I filled his blue, space-themed sippy cup with skim milk and put it beside him before flopping on the couch next to him. I thought about everything I had to do today, and tried to relax and be stress-free for a minute.


	3. WalMart Works In Mysterious Ways

**Chapter Author:**

**Spectrum Larka**

I took a deep breath and tried not to gag. Since the arrival of Eric Cartman, Jr. (or, as I liked to call him, Little Eric), I'd lost my appetite for a lot of foods, including eggs. Sometimes it was the smell that made me sick, or the taste, or just the appearance, but today it was especially bad. One deep breath in and I almost vomited from the smell.

"Mommy, Mommy, I want OJ!" Little Eric screamed, slamming his cheap plastic fork on the ground. "OJ! OJ!"

I got up and rubbed my lower back, which was extremely sore. One trip to the refrigerator for some orange juice, one trip to Little Eric's position on the couch, and one trip back to my chair. I rubbed my temples, beginning to feel the familiar throb that lead to a migraine.

I headed back into our tiny bedroom, looking for the familiar bottle of Advil I kept on top of our one dresser, and instead spied the photograph of Stan again. What was I doing keeping this, anyway? I picked it up and crumpled it. I was a married woman, Mrs. Wendy Cartman, and it was shameful of me to thinking of another man. I wasn't even thinking of him really, just looking at him, wondering what would have happened if I had been Mrs. Wendy Marsh.

Realizing that the picture was planting treacherous thoughts in my head, I knew I had to get rid of it. Ripping it up would probably be best.

_That's such a waste_, remarked a voice in my head. _Don't waste paper. Just put it away._

I agreed with the voice and started to put it away, but then I stopped. I never really cared about wasting paper, it was just one photograph. Why was I so determined to protect it? I didn't even have feelings for Stan anymore!

Feeling confused, I unwrinkled it and ripped it up and then dropped the photo in the garbage. I instantly regretted it. Why was I getting so worked up over a single picture, anyway? For god's sake, it was just a piece of paper. It wasn't like I'd found a love note or anything. Just a photograph. A single photograph.

I suddenly remembered my Advil. I reached for the bottle on our dresser, only to find it weightless and empty. I swallowed. I couldn't survive without my Advil. I just needed to find my spare bottle, I always kept one in my sock drawer...

I rifled through my sock drawer, my fingers finally closing around another empty Advil bottle. I pulled it out, desperately shaking it, hoping for a single pill. Nothing. I sifted through piles of various household medicines stashed atop our dresser: Benadril for Kids, Nyquil, Dayquil...all empty. I gathered them up in my arms and dropped them in our trash can.

Then I broke. I thought of myself, a broken woman in old clothes, rifling through empty drug bottles, standing in a tiny house with her young son and less-then satisfactory husband. I single tear dripped down my cheek. Where had I gone wrong?

Before I knew it, I was crying on the bed, tears flowing freely. This house was my prison, my son my keeper, and my husband my torturer. I loved him so much, though. I couldn't ever leave. I would die here, but Little Eric would be a little older and my husband Eric would probably be laughing over me as the lights left my eyes, the cruel bastard.

"Mommy?" I heard Little Eric in the doorway. "Mommy, are you crying?"

I wiped the tears from my eyes, hoping I would be strong for my son. They stopped flowing, but my cheeks were still blotchy. "No, sweetie, mommy's fine. We're going to take a trip down to Wal-Mart to buy something for a moment, okay?"

"Yay!" Little Eric clapped his hands. "Can I bring Teddy?"

"Of course," I let out a small laughed, consoled by how easily pleased my son was. "Make sure to put on your coat, though, it's cold out."

Little Eric nodded and ran into his room. He reappeared a moment later, Teddy in his hands, a rough black coat wrapped around his shoulders. "Ready to go, mommy!"

"Alright sweetie, let's go!" I pulled on my familiar black coat, the one Eric had bought me for our first anniversary. Back when he was still himself.

The cold air was like a slap in the face, and I held Little Eric closer to me as we got outside. But Little Eric would have none of it, and in moments he was stumbling ahead, running as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"Look, Mommy, Teddy can run!" Little Eric held up his teddy bear and moved his legs to make him run. "Run, Teddy!"

"He sure can, sweetie," I laughed.

Eric and I lived just a few blocks away from a Wal-Mart, and I knew exactly where I would be going. Aisle 9, second to top shelf. That was where they stocked Advil. After that, it was off to the Metro to take Little Eric to daycare.

"Careful, honey!" I called out as we approached the first crosswalk. "Don't cross the street without Mommy!"

Little Eric stopped and turned around, his little nose pink with cold. As soon as I reached him I held him closer to me, not wanting him to catch a cold. Colds meant sick days, and sick days meant medicine, soup, and tissues, and that all cost money. Money Eric and I couldn't spare.

As soon as the light turned green, I grabbed his hand and lead him across the street, making sure that I kept a tight grip on Little Eric's hand. He was always running and playing, such an energetic boy. I could barely keep him under control. As soon as we made it across the street, I let him go, and he raced ahead again, his teddy flopping in the wind.

We reached the Wal-Mart, and Eric pressed his tiny fingers against the glass, looking at the aisle where they stocked plush animals and greeting cards. Every so often, when Little Eric was very mad at his father, Eric would take him down here a buy him a toy. Teddy came from that, as well has a great deal of his other toys.

The automatic doors slid open and I was blasted with the lukewarm air of the Wal-Mart, which made my headache worse. I needed that Advil, now.

I headed down to aisle 9, speeding along for my familiar bottle. I grabbed the bottle and, making sure no one was looking, unscrewed the cap and popped two into my mouth, swallowing them whole. Then I re-screwed the cap and carried it into the line, which was only a few people long.

"Mommy, Mommy!" Little Eric called out to me, picking up a red-and-black polka-dotted dog from the shelf. "Can we? Please?!"

We really couldn't afford it right now, but the last thing I needed was my 4 1/2 year old son throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the Wal-Mart. "Sure, honey, give him to me."

Little Eric handed me the dog he'd picked out and ran back to run his fingers over the shiny cards that he could not yet read. I occupied myself with the tabloids, which ranged from outrageous to silly.

I loved reading them. How someone could get paid to write a 3-page-story on the weight of a single woman. My husband worked hard for us, even if he did have his flaws. It made me sick to my stomach, these headlines. **Chloe Kardashian's New Marriage; Tiger and Edin: Finally Split**.

The only one I really paid attention to was Rolling Stone, which had music artists and people I actually cared about on the cover. I finally spotted it, on the bottom shelf. It was folded over, and I could only see the bottom of the headline, which read **Rising New Artist**. I picked it up, genuinely interested, and unfolded it.

I screamed.

The Wal-Mart clerks looked up, genuinely afraid. A few of the rednecks in front of me turned back as well, and Little Eric came out of his stall.

"I-I'm sorry," I apologized.

Because we still lived in Colorado, a town populated almost entirely by rednecks, nobody bothered for an explanation. They all returned to what they were doing, even Little Eric returned to his cards. I looked back at the magazine, at the man who's eyes I'd gazed into so many times when I was younger, a voice which I'd heard proclaim his love for me. The blue eyes of the man who'd I'd very recently ripped up picture of.

Stan Marsh.

My first impulse was that I shouldn't have ripped up the pictures, because they could've been worth something. My second impulse was Oh-My-God, my ex-boyfriend was on the cover of Rolling Stone. I grabbed up the magazine and added it with my Tylenol to my little basket, and Little Eric's dog. My hands were trembling.

We got up to the cashier and paid for what we were buying, and I bought the dog, magazine, and Advil, barely glancing at the price, which I usually paid so much attention to. As soon as we grabbed them, I grabbed Little Eric's hand and headed out the door.

"Ow, ow, Mom," squealed Little Eric. "Holding my hand really, really tight! Let go!"

"Eric, honey, we're going to be late for daycare," I told him distractedly, racing for the bus stop three blocks away. "Do you want to be late? Miss Massley will be upset with you."

"Don't want Miss Massley to be mad at me!" Little Eric cried. "Let go! I'll hurry, I'll hurrry!"

I let go of Little Eric's hand, still briskly walking towards the bus stop. I grabbed it again when we crossed the street and kept going, extremely conscious of the magazine in my bag.

We crossed the next block, quickly, and I kept my hand firmly on Little Eric's for the rest of the journey, and when we reached the bus stop the bus was about to leave.

"Wait up!" I called out to the bus driver and and shoved two tokens into his hand before sitting down at the back of the bus. "Eric, honey, sit down and be quiet, okay? Mommy has to read something."

"Alright, Mommy," chirruped Little Eric, and he sat down, playing with his dog. I took a deep breath, and when the bus started up, I opened up the magazine to Stan's page.

**Today's featured artist is Stan Marsh, one of the highest rated and quickest rising Pop and Alternative music star's since Michael Jackson or Madonna.**

**"He has a truly wonderful voice," our music expert, Kelly Neilson, reports from one of his recording sessions for his newest album, **_Dear Lila_**. "There's something about it that has a magical, air-like quality. It's no wonder he's taking the nation by storm."**

**We caught up with Stan at the premiere for **_New Moon_**, in Los Angeles, California. He was spotted with his wife, Lila Marsh, for whom his latest album was named. Sorry to disappoint, ladies! We had our reporter, Amy Darin, catch up with Stan on the red carpet.**

**One of Stan's songs, **_Mine Forever_**, just reached #10 on the charts, and we had Amy ask him about it.**

**"Well," Stan was quoted as saying. "I'm just glad it's so popular, but I really wrote it for Lila. She's the most amazing wife a guy could ask for, and I wouldn't rather be with anyone else."**

**Adorable, isn't it? Spotted wearing a deep-cut, slitted lilac gown at the premiere, it seems Lila has taken risk, wearing something so revealing right after having she and Stan's second child, a girl named Sarah. We had Amy catch up with her as well, and you can see her full interview at , alone with Stan's.**

**Stan and Lila's two children, Penelope and Sarah, are both in accelerated programs. When asked about her parent's newfound fame, Penelope, 14, had this to say:**

**"Well, I love it. I mean, the pressure, is, like, intense at times, but overall, I mean, what teenager doesn't want to get tons of attention paid to her?"**

**To get free MP3s of some of Stan's music, visit /stanmarsh. **❖

Holy. Shit.


	4. A Rolling Stone

**Chapter Author:**

**Blazelove**

Once the bus had dropped us off, I sprinted inside, anxious and panicking. I threw my keys at the coffee table, missing by a long shot. They ended up sliding across it, knocking off Little Eric's empty sippy cup. Little Eric stumbled in after me, bewildered.

"Mommy, you're so fast!" he chuckled as I paced towards Eric's office, where our computer was. It was a piece of shit, but it did have internet. I swung open the door, coughing as the room's dust filled my lungs, stinging my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in this room. I sat down at his desk, the spinning black computer chair smelling moldy and damp. I didn't mind whatsoever. I gripped the copy of_ Rolling Stone_ tightly in my left hand, frantically searching for the Internet Explorer icon. I double-clicked, and it took a minute to open. I typed in _rollingstone . com/stanmarsh _and pounded on the return key until it finally started to load.

Little Eric poked his head through the doorway and mumbled.

"Mommy?" he asked, confused. I spun around in my chair and managed a fake grin.

"Oh, hi sweetie," I beamed.

"Whut'cha doing?" he requested, curiously. He walked up to me and tilted his head when he noticed the computer screen. I wasn't paying attention, and he pointed suddenly.

"Who's that?" he asked. I turned to the screen and gasped a photo of a shirtless Stan Marsh. I turned the monitor off and quickly sat up.

"Ohh, nobody, sweetie. Come on, go play with your new doggy. He should meet Teddy," I persuaded as I ushered him out of the room. I perched back on the old chair and switched on the monitor, revealing a photo of Stan wearing a black leather jacket over his bare chest. He was a lot more muscular than when I dated him. I shook my head and scrolled down to the mp3s. I clicked on the first one, _Mine Forever_. It redirected to an empty page with a Quicktime stream, and autoplayed.

It started off slowly, the medley of an acoustic guitar leading the intro. It sounded like the same guitar he had back in high school, the tone reminding me of when he would strum softly in my bedroom. His voice chimed in at last, so familiar that it gave me the same feeling I had when I was with him. It was a bit lower in pitch than the voice I remembered, but still had all the essence of him. The tears started to flow as the chorus chimed in.

_There is no doubt within my heart_

_that no one can keep us apart_

_For you and I can make it through_

_And look back on our endeavor_

_I'll always be here for you_

_'Cause, baby, you will always be_

_Mine forever_

I was curled up on the floor at this point, the tears soaking the old, tainted carpet. My eyes stung every moment I blinked, only stimulating more tears. My vision was blurred, and my nose gushing. Every time I took in a breath, my lungs felt like they had been ripped out of my chest, make me hyperventilate. His voice flowed through me, bringing back memories of when we were dating, cuddling on blistering cold days, holding hands through the rain… the way he told me that nothing would every stop him from loving me.

I was a mess.

I felt like the day it had happened. The day I left him.

I continued to bawl until Little Eric heard me, and rushed in.

"Mommy! What happen?" he cried, running to my side. He plopped on the floor next to me, looking concerned at me.

I gasped for breath and wrapped Little Eric in a tight squeeze, crying on him.

I managed to get a few words out after a while.

"M-mommy's… f-fine," I stuttered, sniffling. I rubbed my eyes throughly, trying to stop the tears.

I took long, deep breaths and closed my eyes. I tried to picture the happiest moments of my life… the day Little Eric was born, holding him in my arms, his grubby hands pawing at the air. My wedding day…

The gushing of tears had stopped at last, and I was able to control myself at this point.

I stood up and walked into the living room, Little Eric's breakfast still lying on the table. I picked it up weakly, and dumped the half-eaten eggs in the trash, throwing his plastic dish in the sink. I sat down on the kitchen tile, my stomach aching unbearably. I couldn't tell if it was from hunger or the meltdown I had just had, and assumed it was the combined efforts of both. I rummaged through the fridge and found a plastic container of cubed cantaloupe. I opened it abruptly and poured it into a ceramic dish, as well as filling a glass to the brim with tap water. I carried my makeshift meal to the dining table and began to pop them into my mouth.

The sweet juice of the cantaloupe was refreshing, and filled me with joy. The smooth texture was comforting, and I gulped down some of my water. I sighed with relief and laid my head upon the mahogany table. I may not be married to a pop sensation, but I savored my life how it was. I would much rather be an overworked housewife than the wife of a conceited superstar. He'd be out touring, I'd be home alone with the kids for weeks. We'd never have time alone, always tracked down by paparazzi. Our personal life would be posted on the front pages of magazines for the whole world to read.

I found myself smiling, a very rare thing for me to be doing. I beamed as I took my dishes to the kitchen, something I would usually overlook as drudgery. I rinsed them thoroughly before applying the dishwashing soap, and I scrubbed intensely. Once I was through, I wandered into the living room and picked up Little Eric and twirled.

"_Mommmyy!" _he giggled.

I laid him on the couch and sat beside him.

"Mommy loves you very much," I cooed.

"I love you too, Mommy."

I heard muffled footsteps and keys jingling, before the front door opened. There was Eric, actually at home before midnight. I ran to him and locked him in an embrace, then kissed him.

He laughed, surprised.

"Well, that was… unexpected," he muttered.

And for the first time in God knows how long, I was beaming with joy, in the arms of Eric Cartman.


	5. Rage

**Author:**

**Spectrum Larka**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, right, like Matt or Trey will ever read this...(If you do, you guys, I LOVE YOU. YOU'RE AMAZING.)**

I was extremely happy Eric was home. I was expecting some romantic declaration, some word of acknowledgement, but it was not so. The first words out of his mouth were:

"Why is Little Eric not at daycare?"

I sighed and regretfully pulled away, rubbing my hands. "I guess I wanted him to stay home today. Why?"

"I have some bad news," he told me, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack.

"What?" I felt a familiar pang in my stomach. I knew something was coming.

"I got fired."

My first response was anger. I didn't have a job, in this economy no one wanted employ a woman like me, who had a 4 1/2 son and who suffered from frequent migraines and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

"Honey, I know what you're thinking," he soothed, trying to keep my anger at bay. "Listen, it's alright. The factory was a low-paying place to work, anyway-"

"Little Eric, sweetheart, why don't you go into your room and play with your new doggie?" I suggested, and ushered him into his room, closing the door behind him.

"What do you mean, 'low-paying place'?!" I practically shrieked. "You didn't go to college! Where else are you going to get hired?! You think a job as a 7-11 clerk is going to support a family of three?! You knew our income depended on this, Eric! How could you do this to us?! What are we going to do now?!"

Stan was all but eclipsed from my mind. I was entirely consummated by rage: rage at Eric for losing his job, rage at myself for running out of Advil in the first place, rage at the world for doing this to me.

"Wen..." Eric was trying to placate me. Trying to pretend he was the man he'd been years ago, the one who'd called me Wen, who'd bought me white roses rather then red because he knew I liked them better. My Eric had seemed like a racist, inconsiderate asshole, but on the inside I'd known he'd really cared for me. I wasn't sure of anything anymore. "Wen, don't be angry. I'm really sorry. I'll find a job soon, I promise."

"We'll have to stop sending Little Eric to daycare," I told my husband. "We can cut cable, and less Advil, which I still need, though..."

Eric sighed and sat down on a creaky chair near our table, head in his hands. I figured now was not the best time to point out that Stan was on the cover of Rolling Stone, so I picked up my copy and retreated into the study, googling Stan Marsh.

Surprisingly, a great deal of pictures and articles came up about his wife, Lila. She was a model, but also a humanitarian. She had released a few albums, none of which were big sellers, had a Master's Degree in Teaching and in Economics, and was actively involved in the community. She was gorgeous, too; long brown hair that was pin-straight and down to her waist, often put in ponytails or in a braid, and crystalline green eyes. Looking at her filled my heart with sorrow and my eyes with tears.

I had to contact Stan. I didn't care how, but I needed contact with the outside world, people other then my husband and son. I had no time to go out and make friends or socialize, Little Eric left me no time for that. The only hope I had for any sort of social interaction was to track Stan down. Not as a lover, or as a boyfriend, but as my only friend left. My only opportunity.

I checked the number for his secretary in the Rolling Stone article and dialed it on my cell phone, praying he would pick up.

"Hello?" A feminine, shrill voice answered. "Can I help you?"

"You must be Lila," I gushed. "May I-"

"This is Shirley Nemmers, secretary and agent of Stan Marsh," rasped Shirley, and I could practically see her cracked, dry lips. "Who is this?"

"This is Wendy...Testaburger," I said, realizing that Stan would never pick up if I used the surname Cartman. "May I speak with Stan, please?"

"Are you with the record company?" Shirley asked. "Or just a fan?"

"I know Stan personally," I told her matter-of-factly. "I haven't spoken to him in a while, and I'd-"

"Enough, enough," Shirley cut me off. "I'll ask Stan."

I heard her put her hand over the receiver and her yelling something out. I heard a barely audible, muffled reply.

"Stan does not want to speak to you," responded Shirley in monotone. "Goodbye."

The line cut.

What did she mean, not want to speak to me?! For god's sake, we dated for five years! I immediately redialed the number and held the receiver to my ear.

"Hello."

"Stan!" I yelped, relieved. "Why would-"

"You've reached the line for Shirley Nemmers. Press 1 if you are looking to communicate with Brady Silvans. Press 2 if you are looking to communicate with Britney Spears. Press 3 if you are looking to communicate with Stan Marsh."

I slammed down the 3 key.

The phone rang once, then twice, then three times, then four...six...eight...eleven...

"Stan is out at the moment," began the computer voice. "Please leave a message and Shirley will pass it on to him as soon as possible." Then it beeped.

"Stan!" I exclaimed. "It's me, Wendy! I listened to some of your music today, and it's amazing! Can we maybe grab a coffee and catch up?"

I hung up and dialed again. How come she'd answered once but not twice? "You've reached the line for Shirley Nemmers. Press 1 if you are looking to communicate with Brady Silvans. Press 2 if you are looking to communicate with Britney Spears. Press 3 if you are looking to communicate with Stan Marsh."

I hit 3 again. "Stan is out at the moment. Please leave a message and Shirley will pass it on to him as soon as possible."

"Stan, please, can you pick up the phone? I just want to talk, that's all!" I exclaimed into the receiver, and hung up. After a pause, I called again.

"This number has been blocked from the address book."

So they had been home. And they'd prevented me from contacting Stan. And now I was blocked from his number. I'd never talk to him again.

I dropped my phone, defeated. At that moment, Little Eric wandered in. "Mommy, are you okay? You cried two times today."

I turned around and looked at my son, my darling little boy, standing in the doorway. He always assumed that pose; leaning on his right leg, curled in around whatever toy he was holding at the moment. His black hair was always a little messy, no matter how much it was combed, and his big, brown puppy-dog eyes were always wide and slightly sad.

"Mommy's fine, sweetie, her CFS is acting up again," I told him, hiding behind my disease like I always did. I'd been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome when Little Eric was only 2, and I'd had a hard time telling him. For him, CFS was some invisible entity that made his mother cry and sleep.

"Oh," echoed Little Eric, though of course he had no idea what I meant. "I name the dog. He is Spots."

"Spots?" I pasted my brightest smile on my face. "That's a great name. How are Spots and Teddy getting along?"

"Great!" Little Eric beamed. "They had a party with Dragon."

Dragon was the first toy he'd ever gotten, a stuffed blue dragon Eric had brought me when I was still in the hospital after having Little Eric. He'd been too young to name it, so we named it Paul, but when he got older, Little Eric had called it Dragon, and that was that.

"I'll organize them all!" Little Eric stumbled on the carpet and then launched into running again, into his room to gather up all his stuffed animals.

He had a quite a collection now. Teddy, Spots, and Dragon were only three. There was a yellow elephant with one ear missing, named Lars, the only name Little Eric could pronounce when he'd gotten the elephant.

When he was three, Little Eric had drawn a picture for my Eric. Eric, taking out the garbage and old newspapers, had mistakenly thrown the picture away. Little Eric cried for days, and to compensate, Eric had shown up with a reddish-brown bear, similar to Teddy, but this one had a red ribbon wrapped around his neck. Little Eric had forgiven him instantly and named the bear Teddy 2.

Each animal was a reminder of one of Eric's mistakes. When Eric broke something, when he lost something, or forgot something...for that there was Ree, the black-and-white panda bear, and for another there was Sara, the winged gray cat plush. They had slowly filled up Little Eric's room.

I heard Eric shuffle in the kitchen, and he turned on the sink, washing off his hands. It was a compulsory thing he did now when he got home, because I'd always been complaining about how dirty his hands were. Even now, when they were clean as they'd ever be, he washed them. To make me happy.

I took a deep breath and headed out into the tiny kitchen. Eric was there, wiping off his hands. When he saw me, his face lit up.

"Wen, I'm really sorry," he repeated. "I know money's tight, but we have each other, right?"

He opened up the mini fridge and pulled out a beer, cracking the top off with an expert hand and pouring half the bottle down his throat. Why did he always have to do that? Every time he did or said something sweet, he had to go and ruin it. Even so, I still loved him.

"Listen, honey, I'm sorry too," I apologized. "I know you didn't mean to get fired, and times are tough, but we'll pull through it, like we always do."

Eric nodded and finished his bottle of bear, dropping it in the garbage from where he was standing. "We will, Wendy. We always do, don't we? We're survivors."

I nodded and grabbed Little Eric's sippy cup, which was lying on the floor. I dropped it in the sink, but decided to wash the dishes later. I had other priorities. "Eric, honey, can I borrow your phone?"

"Sure, why?" He dug his old, shitty cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.

"Oh, no reason, I just want to check something," I called out innocently. It wasn't like I was cheating on him or anything. I wasn't calling Stan to date him I was just calling to...why was I calling, anyway?

I dialed the number from the previous and prayed they wouldn't recognize my voice.

"Hello?" Shirley answered. "Who is this?"

"This is...Eric Cartman," I feigned my husband's voice. "I'm here to speak with the Jew--er, uh, Stan."

"Stan isn't Jewish," muttered Shirley. "Let me ask him if he wants to talk to you."

I waited while she asked. There was shuffling sounds, and then, for the first time in over 15 years, I heard his voice. "Fatass? What do you want?"

It was hard to believe he'd rather talk to Eric Cartman then me. "Stan, it's me, Wendy. I'm sorry I lied, I just need to talk to you, can we-" The dial tone told me he hung up. I called back.

"This number has been blocked from the address book."

Shit! Why wasn't he talking to me?! So what if I'd broken up with him, that was years ago! The least he could do was answer a single phone call. I threw Eric's phone on the floor in frustration. I would never get through to Stan. I was stuck in my hellhole.

"Wendy, honey, can you make dinner?" Eric called out from the kitchen. "I'm starving!"

I deleted the call from his phone history before returning to the kitchen and opening the fridge to see what our dinner possibilities were. We had some old tortillas, milk...water...skim milk, some apple sauce, half a can of soup...some cheese.

"Quesadillas it is!" I murmured to myself, and pulled out the cheese and tortillas, ready to prepare dinner for my husband.

* * *

Half an hour later, we were both in bed. I was lying, stare up at the ceiling, thinking about getting a job. I couldn't now, because we couldn't afford daycare anymore, but maybe I could drop Little Eric off with a friend. Who? I mean, Bebe and I hadn't spoken in years, and other then that I had no idea where everyone else was.

I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the relaxing sounds of the night. Of birds and the occasional dog bark or car driving by. They were soothing, comforting...the buzzing, ringing sound was not. What was that? I thought vaguely of our elderly neighbors, but they didn't seem the type to throw wild parties late at night.

"Wendy..." grumbled Eric. "Wendy, turn off...your phone."

I reached over for my phone, flashing a buzzing softly in the moonlight, and flipped open the top. "Hello?"

"Hi." Stan replied.


	6. Blind Confessions

**Chapter Author:**

**Blazelove**

**_______________**

**Reviews mean a lot to us, guys. We've been dying for some feedback with this, it would be extremely appreciated.**

I sat up from the matress immediately, and let out a faint scream. Eric gave me a strange look, wondering why I was shrieking in the middle of the night over a phone call. I crawled out of bed, not caring about how much sleep I would end up getting or how much I would regret it tomorrow. Eric lifted his head and squinted his tired eyes.

"Wen?" he called after me, softly. I didn't respond. I was too frantic to respond.

Stan fucking Marsh was on the other line, willing to stop ignoring me, even if for a minute. I rushed out of the bedroom door, through the hallway, and into the bathroom. I shut the door with a slam, locking it.

"Stan?!" I gasped.

"…Wendy," he muttered, his voice cracking. Hearing his voice brought back a rush of memories and nostalgia, leaving me on the verge of tears. He paused for a minute.

"Why were you trying to call me?" he snapped.

"Look, I…" my voice was starting to crack and become weaker, and I could feel the tears coming. "I was out running errands, a-and I saw you… on the magazine. Your music is… stunning. I've been thinking about us so much lately, and I was wondering if maybe--" I went on and on, before I was interrupted by Stan.

"Wendy…" he sighed, irritated. "You don't… you don't get it, do you?"

"Get w-what…?" I asked, in tears at this point, lying on the floor of the pitch black bathroom.

"You don't get how much you've hurt me, how long it's taken me to get over you. If you think that you can suck up to me, make everything "perfect" like it was, just because I've actually made it far in life, you can guess again. I'm not going back to the misery you put me through by leaving me. Twice. I've actually met a woman who loves me with all of her heart, and I feel the same. I never felt that you loved me as nearly much as I loved you," he ranted.

I sniffled and hyperventilated, my eyes stinging, realizing I'd cried three times in the past day, all because of Stan.

"…_You_ don't understand. I-I didn't call you because of this new "superstar" title you've got behind you, I called you because…" I was hoping to clear everything up then and there, but I stopped myself at that moment.

What was I about to say?

I wasn't about to say… No…

"Because… _why?" _he asked, impatient and curious.

I tried to force the words back, I couldn't tell if they were true or not, and I sure as hell didn't want them to be. I gasped for breath after holding it, preventing myself from saying anything.

"I don't have time for this," he sighed.

"S-stan…!" I bawled, trying to stop him from hanging up.

"What?!" he yelped.

I pondered over my options at this point, taking a deep breath. If I said anything more, or nothing more, he would ignore me again. I had no option but to…

I gulped, the back of my throat stinging impetuously. I whimpered softly as the tears began to flow increasingly down my cheeks. I inhaled, and couldn't hold back words any more. They burst through my lips, finally breaching my mental barrier.

"I just want to be friends again. My life has been awful with the combined efforts of my husband, my son, and my CFS… I never realized how much I missed you, and I regret what I did to you. I respect that you've moved on, and I just want a companion…" I stammered, gasping for breath by the end. I screamed softly again, and began to bawl at this point. I couldn't believe what the fuck I had just said.

I heard Stan take in deeper breaths, and eventually followed by the drawn-out beep of the dial tone. He hung up.

I slammed my cellphone closed and flung it aimlessly, no telling where it landed, as I was blind in the pitch black room. I felt like such a bitch, crying at age twenty-nine, married with children, over a meaningless ex-boyfriend. I felt around the bathroom floor for my cellphone. I finally gripped ahold of it, lying at the base of the wall, and flipped it open.

I looked at my recent calls and programmed Stan's number into my contacts, hoping for something in the future. I managed to stand myself up and laid the cellphone on the bathroom counter. I turned the doorknob to the bathroom.

There I was, face-to-face with Eric, looking very suspicious. He raised an eyebrow at me as I peeked out, and I gasped in panic.

"Er-eric!" I shrieked.

He grunted, his arms behind his back. He looked as if he were about to pull out a knife and stab me.

"So…" he began.

I gulped, and dared not to blink.

"W-why are you looking at me like that?!" I wailed.

"I found this," he groaned, and pulled an arm out from behind his back. In his hand was the issue of the Rolling Stone, with Stan Marsh on the cover, wearing his sleek black leather jacket over his bare chest.

I gasped, once again.

"O-oh. …That. You know-" I prattled on, interrupted by Eric.

"Why did you buy this?" he hissed.

"I like the Rolling Stone. A-and, you know, I wanted to know about how Stan was doing…" I lied, rubbing the back of my head as I did. I couldn't look in his eyes either, without having to admit everything.

"Wendy Cartman," he groaned, threateningly. Eric was always envious of Stan while I was dating him, and didn't want him in the way again. I can still remember his face the day he heard that Stan and I broke up.

"_TELL ME!" _he shouted.

Little Eric opened his bedroom door, clutching Spots for dear life, watching his parents scream at one another.


	7. Positivity

**Author:**

**Spectrum Larka**

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* * *

"Little Eric, sweetie, what's wrong?" I asked, reaching out to my son in the hallway. He trembled, clutching Spots tightly in his hands.

"I heard a noise," he sputtered. "Mommy? Daddy?"

"I can get this one," murmured Eric.

Little Eric stood in the doorway, looking terrified. Eric stepped forward and crouched down to his level. "Hey, champ. What are you doing up?"

"I...you and Mommy were talking real loud." Little Eric, though he was upset, was excited by being able to hang around his Dad, who was never around.

"Junior, you can't be up all night," chuckled Eric in a too-happy tone, and he scooped Little Eric up in his arms. "Do you want me to tuck you in?"

"Yes!" Little Eric kicked his legs in the air and squealed. "Can we read a bedtime story?"

"It's way too late for that, little guy," I heard Eric walking into Little Eric's room, and the shuffle of Little Eric's thin sheets as Eric tucked him in. "I'll read you one in the morning, okay?"

"Alright, daddy," Little Eric chirruped, so easily consoled. "I love you."

"Love you too, Junior."

Eric padded back into the bathroom, turned on the light, and waved the now-tattered magazine in my face.

"Things have been tough lately, I know," hissed Eric in barely a whisper. "So I'll let you explain. I hope this isn't what I think it is, and I want you to know that I trust you."

"Listen, it's nothing," I explained. "How many times are you going to see an old friend on the cover of Rolling Stone? I was just curious."

I tried to downplay the event as much as possible, and it worked. Eric smiled. "Phew."

"Eric...I miss you," I confessed, my hands plastered on the floor. "Part of the reason I'm doing this is because I'm lonely. I feel like we're isolated from each other. Just because we're having financial difficulties doesn't mean we have to stay away from each other."

"I know, and I'm so sorry, it's all my fault," Eric apologized, and again he was the mild-mannered man I loved so much. "I just feel so bad. I keep thinking if I just work harder, work harder, work harder...Little Eric deserves so much better."

We thought the same things, Eric and I. We were one person with the same goals, and I felt closer then I had to anyone in a long time.

We headed back through the hall and into our bedroom, crawling into our bed.

"You know, Wen, I'll always love you," he said, leaning in and wrapping his arms around me. He was so warm, like a safety barrier. I leaned in to him, nuzzling my forehead into his neck and breathing in his scent.

"Eric, I love you," I murmured, running my hands down his back.

"I love you too."

* * *

Forty minutes later, my phone rang. Neither of us heard it, because at the moment, our clothes were in a tangled heap on the floor, muffling it.

As the caller ID flashed **Stan Marsh**, I lost myself in the arms of Eric Cartman.

* * *

"Morning, Wen-Wen," Eric breathed into my hair. He only called me that when he was feeling particularly loving. I savored the moment, having not felt this way in the longest of times. He didn't have a job, either, which meant we could lie in this morning.

"Little Eric probably wants some breakfast," I told Eric. "I should make it for him."

"Yeah, you should," he laughed. "I'm going to take a shower first, though. Care to join me?"

"Maybe," I purred. "But first, I have to make some soup."

"Mmm," laughed Eric. "You make soup sound so sexy."

I laughed and opened my drawers, feeling much happier but still extremely tired. I pulled on a plain black t-shirt. I started to put on pants, then shrugged when I realized I probably wouldn't be needing them.

Upon entering Little Eric's room, I was assaulted with freezing cold air. Little Eric was wrapped very tightly in his thin sheets, and I gently shook his shoulder, waking him.

"Mommy?" He yawned drowsily. "Daddy read me story?"

"Not right now, sweetie, it's breakfast time!" I called out, cheerfully. "Want some soup?'

"Soup?" Little Eric blinked. "For breakfast?"

"It's all we have left, sweetheart," I told him, and scooped him out of his bed. He giggled and I carried him out into the kitchen, placing him down on the sofa. I turned on Dora the Explorer, Little Eric's favorite show, and he sat, mesmerized.

I opened the mini fridge and pulled out the half-full soup can, microwaving it up. As soon as it was warm, I poured it into one of our bowls and stirred it. I let it sit for about 30 seconds so it didn't burn Little Eric, and then brought it to him where he was sitting on the couch.

"Thanks, mommy," Little Eric grabbed his plastic spoon and began to eat with a feverish intensity.

When I got back to our bedroom, Eric had already finished his shower, and I disappointedly put my jeans back on.

"Hot water ran out," he admitted, a grin on his face. "Anyway, I have to head out. There's a job opening down at the Chevron gas station I don't want to pass up. It's better then nothing, right?"

I smiled at how hard my husband was working to provide for us.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Little Eric chanted from the kitchen. "Story, story!"

Eric opened the bottom drawer of our dresser, which we used to store miscellaneous--books, old newspaper clippings, Stan's copy of Rolling Stone, a couple of old nail polish bottles. He pulled out a small yellow book titled **Gary the Bear's Big Adventure **and headed out into the living room.

I went around the room, gathering up our clothes, humming as I did so. Upon picking up my pants, I noticed my phone, which landed loudly on the floor. I picked it up and examined the screen, which was vibrating madly.

**Wendy's Phone**

**11:33 AM**

**5 NEW MESSAGES!!**

Five new messages? It couldn't be.... I opened up the window to my missed calls as fast as I could and scanned them.

**310-633-4190 (Stan Marsh)**

**9:14 PM**

**310-633-4190 (Stan Marsh)**

**11:02 PM**

**310-633-4190 (Stan Marsh)**

**1:42 AM**

**310-633-4190 (Stan Marsh)**

**2:20 AM**

**310-633-4190 (Stan Marsh)**

**2:58 AM**

Stan had called that many times?! My heart skipped a beat. He wanted to talk to me. My hands jittering in excitement, I slammed down the keys for his number, held it up to my ear, and sucked in my breath.

"Hello?" Stan answered, his voice heavy and tired.

"Stan!" I squeaked, my voice three octaves too high. "I'm sorry I missed your call, I was, uh...with my husband."

"You're married?" Stan sounded surprised. "Wow, Wendy, congratulations. You should have told me that first, I would have been less hesitant to talk to you. Who's the lucky guy?"

I swallowed. "Uh...Eric Cartman?"

"Nice one, Wendy," laughed Stan. "That'd be hilarious. Anyway, Lila wanted me to chat with you. She said this would be a good opportunity for me to 'repair old feuds'. "

"Really? That's great!" I remembered my previous offer to get coffee, but since Eric had just lost his job I realized that might not be the best idea in the world. "We should hang out more often."

"You really hurt me, Wendy," added Stan darkly. "I...it took me years to get over what you did to me. Lila was my only light in the dark, and I guess she thinks it would be healthier for me if I fixed things up with you. But don't think for one second I'm doing this because I want to be around you. I'm doing it for her."

I swallowed. So he didn't even want to be around me. I'd had no idea how much impact I'd had on Stan as a person and on his life. "I'm...Stan, I'm so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. I never meant to hurt you. You have to understand, I knew in my heart that I was no good for you, and I knew that you deserved better then me. Lila sounds fantastic, and you have no idea how happy it makes me that you've found happiness."

Lies. Even though she seemed nice, the idea of Stan with Lila made my physically ill. I didn't know why, but I couldn't stand her. I wasn't happy he'd found happiness. It was so unfair, me being like this and him being like that. I couldn't help but whine.

"...Thanks." Stan said after a pause. "That means a lot."

I heard a soft, feminine voice in the background, and swallowed. Lila. Stan replied in the voice I knew so well, and she said something back.

"Listen, Wendy, I have to go," he told me. "I'm glad we had this talk. Maybe we can be friends, after all."

He hung up, and for the first time in a long while, I felt positive.

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	8. The Last Day

**Chapter Author:**

**Blazelove**

**I decided to do the chapter like this to clear things up about Wendy/Stan's past.**

**Oh, and I had to ask Spectrum Larka for a lot of help with this one because of my writer's block, so one paragraph is all her. The writer's block is also why this took so long. ;( Enjoy~**

* * *

_____________________

After Eric had left to try for the job at Chevron, I spent most of my morning cleaning. Little Eric made messes constantly, scattering toys, throwing food everywhere… I was always occupied with something to clean up. I was finally fed up, and needed a break. I began to brew some coffee that I found in the back of the cupboard, and sat down at the dining room table.

I sighed, and began to think about the day it all happened. The day I didn't know I would regret for the rest of my life, an event that not only changed my life, but affected others in tremendous ways.

I was, of course, talking about the day I left Stan Marsh.

* * *

_Ninth grade. It was early April, the rain pouring the most it had all year. Not to long ago, I was sitting on a musky, red couch, Cheesy Poofs crumbs scattered aimlessly on top of it. I had my head in my hands, my head throbbing with frustration. I was actually in Eric Cartman's house. _

_I sure as hell wasn't in his house to be friendly, or just to stop by and visit. I was there to finally take him down, to tell his mom everything. She seems to ignore the unacceptable things that Cartman does, and I want to make it clear how many lives he's ruined. I had been waiting for the day where I could finally push myself to do this, and here I was._

_Only problem was, his mother wasn't there._

_"…Where is your mom?" I asked, impatient and irritated._

_"She's out," he told me, grinning that smile I hated so much._

_"Fine." I replied defiantly. "I'll wait."_

_God, I hated that asshole. He was racist, evil, pretentious, narcissistic, manipulative, and he deserved to get what was coming to him. I would bring Eric Cartman down, I didn't care if I had to wait here for the rest of my life._

_Cartman stretched and yawned on the opposite side of the couch, and I inched away from him slowly. His cat, Mr. Kitty, who apparently is female, pawed at his feet. _

_"Mrroww~" she meowed._

_"God dammit, Mr. Kitty!" he snapped, and stood up._

_"What, you're hungry again? Jesus Christ," he mumbled, and went to where her food dish was. He pulled out a huge bag of Purina cat food from the cupboard and poured it in the bowl, then began picking out pieces of it._

_I raised an eyebrow, then watched him carefully. He was picking out the yellow kibble from the bowl._

_"Dude, what are you doing?" I asked, mockingly._

_"…Mr. Kitty doesn't like the yellow kibble. So I always take them out," he mumbled._

_"But you hate that cat," I clarified._

_"Yeah, but I still care," he muttered, not looking at me the whole time._

_This was very un-Cartman like, and I sunk back into my seat on the couch. I always hated when he did little generous things, because I would always end up seeing another side of him… which led for certain things to happen, like when we had the debate teams in third grade. I had become so attracted to him that the only way to end it was to… kiss him._

_I gasped softly, knowing that that was bound to happen again. I stood up from the couch, feeling weak to my knees._

"_You okay, bitch?" he asked._

"_I'm going home," I sputtered, ashamed in myself._

"_I knew it. Couldn't push yourself to go through with your plan," he laughed, mockingly._

_I ran out the door and slammed it behind me._

_I knocked on the front door of Stan's house urgently, standing in the rain._

"_Okay, okay…" I heard someone groan, muffled inside._

_Stan flung open the door, his face blank until his eyes met mine._

"_Oh, hey babe," he greeted with a grin._

"…_Hi, Stan," I replied darkly._

"_Are you okay? You don't look…" he asked, and trailed off._

"_I'm fine. Hey, will you walk with me for a little?" I offered._

"_Walk? It's pouring outside," he chuckled, thinking I was joking._

"_I want to walk with you. Just the two of us. No one else will be outside," I persuaded._

"_O-okay, let me get my umbrella then," he responded and began to walk inside._

"_No. Let's just go, please?" I convinced. I just wanted to get this over with before I broke into tears._

_He raised an eyebrow and stepped into the rain, beside me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I rested my head in his chest._

"_Wends, Wends…" he cooed._

_The back of my throat began to ache as I held back my tears and whines. I stood in the rain, listening to Stan's heartbeat, a constant metronome. This would most likely be the last time in my life that I would be in the arms of Stan Marsh._

_I pulled myself away from him reluctantly and gripped his hand tightly. He stumbled behind me as I paced ahead of him down the stairs. The way that we were walking reminded me of an owner walking their spazzy Chihuahua as it bounded down the sidewalk, pulling it's owner behind it. I felt bad dragging Stan into the storm like this and I slowed my pace to coordinate my steps with his own._

"_That's better," he chuckled. "You're acting like you're late for something. Just enjoy the… gloomy, rainy day." _

_I laughed slightly at his comment. Stan was always so carefree when he was with me. It was as if the only thing that mattered at moments like this was only me, no one or nothing else. I've never been loved that way before by anyone except for Stan. This was one of the reasons I decided to do what I was about to do, for his sake and sanity. It would be better to do it now and not bear him with the burden later on in life. I realized that I could never love him nearly as much as he loves me, and I was gradually becoming attracted to Eric Cartman._

_I wasn't going to let this go by. I couldn't motivate myself to ever break the news to Stan, but I had no choice. I couldn't go on with him like this, knowing that through everything we go through, I don't have the same feelings for him._

_We finally made our way to Stark's Pond, hand in hand. It pained me to think of what Stan thought I was planning. All I knew for sure was that he wasn't prepared for what I actually had in mind. We made our way to the edge of the pond, the water rippling by the second from the falling raindrops splashing into it. I stood by the water's edge, still holding Stan's hand._

_I tried to distract myself with the sound of the rain, the chill on my cheeks from the wind. I turned to Stan and noticed he was staring at me, and he turned away and blushed as I did so. Why did he have to be so damn cute? _

_He leaned in closer to me, trying to be casual. We were soaked to the bone, but when I was around Stan I always felt so warm, no matter what mood or condition I was in. I leaned over as my throat panged, and I was overwhelmed with depression as I realized why I brought him out here._

_I took in a deep breath, and closed my eyes. I tried to remember this moment, this last, miniscule moment. A moment that, to anyone else, would be meaningless, but a moment that will always be in my heart. My very last moment with Stan._

_He suddenly wrapped his arms around my neck, and locked me in a kiss. This was exactly what I didn't want. I went along with it for a few seconds but then pulled him away._

"_W-wendy?" he asked, concerned._

"_Stan," I began, my voice already cracking._

"_Something's definitely wrong. Will you tell me?" he persuaded, and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked down and closed my eyes before moving his hand away._

"_Wendy!" he demanded, his voice raised._

"_Stan, I—" I went on, and clutched my chest, which began to ache impetously._

"_Stop this and just tell me," he stammered, serious._

"_I…" I was about to do it. I couldn't push it out, the five words I hoped I would never need to say to his face. _

_He put his hands on my cheeks and tilted my head up, so I looked him straight in the eyes. His soaking, black hair covered his forehead completely, and his wet hat sagged upon his head. Looking his caring, deep blue eyes, it made me feel as if I were to burst into a million pieces. _

_I squinted my eyes and I let the tears flow, not able to hold it back any longer. _

"_I'm breaking up with you," I stated, my voice cracking. His hands dropped from my face, and I bent over onto my knees into the mud, sobbing uncontrollably. I wheezed and gripped my aching ribs._

_I couldn't bear to look at him, his face probably heartbroken and ghastly, his eyes watering. He was always there for me, through thick and thin. But that was the reason I had to do this. I couldn't put him through this any longer._

_I heard him make a strange, rasping whimper. He was probably about to say something, but wasn't able to. I had left him stunned._

_Stan began to walk the other direction, but collapsed in the mud, crying. The first time I had ever seen him cry. And I was the one to cause it._

_I reached up to rub my eyes, and stopped as I noticed they were covered in a layer of mud. I tried to tune out Stan's wheezes and sobs, and focus on the sounds of the rain. _

_Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…_

_I finally pushed myself to get on my feet, bent over and clutching my middle, and ran as fast as I could prompt myself to. I felt so empty, so lifeless._

_I didn't dare to look behind me at Stan, lying in the mud, crying for his life. I just kept running until where the mud bordered on the sidewalk, and I tripped on the raised level. I lied facedown, knowing that Stan was probably doing the same. I tried to wipe his name from my thoughts, and got back up. _

_I sprinted to my front door and burst in, leading myself to my room where I collapsed on my bed. I covered the sheets in mud and a bit of blood from where I had skinned my arm as I tripped._

_I had never been in so much pain._

* * *

I found myself in tears in the present, thinking about what I had done. If I never made that ridiculous decision, Stan wouldn't be a superstar, Lila wouldn't be his wife, Cartman wouldn't be my husband, and Little Eric wouldn't be my son. I had changed the lives of so many people in five simple words.

I tried to push it behind me. Nothing could be done. I had to enjoy life as I had it, and it wasn't nearly as bad as it could be. Little Eric was finished with his Dora episode and called for me to turn on another one. He probably had spilled a substance of some sort for me to clean up as well. I stood up from the mahogany dining table and continued my busy, hardworking life as a housewife.


	9. An Invitation to Dinner

**Chapter Author:**

**Spectrum Larka**

I pawed through the phonebook, crossing out ads in red ink and getting more and more disparaged.

"Mommy, mommy, I want Spots!" Little Eric slammed his fists against the table, whining. "Where's Spots?!"

I headed into Eric's room, sifting past Dragon and the other animals to find Spots, lying in a corner. "Coming, honey!"

I grabbed the dog and hurried back, handing it to Little Eric. "Thanks mommy!"

Eric had tried his best to get a job, and to his immense credit he found one in just two days, but it was at a Chevron gas station. He made minimum wage, and I'd had to search for a job to take up my spare time. But nobody would take me, because I had to bring along a 4 1/2 year old boy to wherever I went and nobody would take me. I'd already tried out to be a babysitter, a 7-11 clerk, a Wal-Mart clerk, and even a Wal-Mart greeter, none of them took me. Apparently a toddler, even one which was reasonably well-mannered like Little Eric, was unacceptable to bring to work.

I returned to the phone book and called in to a local cable company to serve as a telemarketer.

"Hello?" A shrill voice picked up.

"Hello, I'm Wendy Cartman," I said, trying to smooth out my voice and sound professional. "Are you still hiring for a position as a telemarketer?"

"Oh, yes, we are," I heard the woman's voice pick-up. "Would you like to apply for the position, Wendy?"

"Yes."

"Excellent," she said. "Let me just ask you a few basic questions about you and we can schedule an appointment. You can ask our manager any health policy questions, etc. that you may have, but they don't offer much."

"That sounds great," I told her, trying to sound friendly and easy-going. "I don't really mind about health benefits right now."

"So, Wendy, how old are you?" She asked.

"I'm 29," I told her. "And, oh, I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Oh, I'm Elise," Elise told me. "Thanks for asking! Okay, Wendy, and do you have any children?"

"Oh, um, yes..." I swallowed, ready for the hardest part. "I have a 4 1/2 year old son, Eric. I might have to bring him in to work some times, not, all the time, but, you know, some times. It wouldn't get much in the way of my work."

"Oh..." Elise seemed noticeably down-trodden. "Well, I guess that's alright. You don't have any long-term diseases, do you?"

Shit. I was so close to getting this job, but telling her about my CFS? This would ruin it for me. "Uh...no. No, I'm totally healthy!"

"Oh, good," I heard the relief in Elise's voice. "Well, the good news is no one else has applied for the job, so chances are you'll get it, anyway. You can come in tomorrow at...does noon sound good? You can meet the boss and see what he thinks of you."

"Thank you!" I cried out in sheer joy. This was the most positive response I'd gotten today. "I appreciate your being so helpful."

"Oh, thank you, too," Elise laughed. "You're so polite! Well, bye now!"

With a click she hung up, and I danced around the room. "Little Eric, mommy's getting a job!"

"A job! Job!" Little Eric squealed, and he slammed Spots against the couch. "Can we go to park?"

"Yeah, sure," I told Little Eric. "But you can't bring Spots, otherwise he'll get dirty."

"Oh, please Mom?!" Little Eric looked at me with his big puppy dog eyes, threatening to cry.

"Alright, fine, since you've been so good," I laughed, in high spirits. "Come on, let's get going. But don't forget your coat!"

Little Eric toddled over to grab his puffy black parka and I my old, worn-out coat. I noticed my cell phone in the pocket and made a mental note to call Stan later. Even if he completely rejected me, I was sick of being so isolated. I had a husband and a son, and that was it. It would be nice to be near Stan again, even if he only wanted me as a friend now. This whole time I'd figured that it'd be best if I stayed away, that Stan needed his space, but now the guilt was catching up to me. I'd really hurt him.

Little Eric was already tugging on the door handle, so I shoved my phone into my pocket and opened the door before Little Eric hurt himself. He rushed out the door, dragging Spots along the dirty ground just like I asked him not to.

There was a park not far away, but I didn't want Little Eric getting sick, so we took the bus. We usually walked everywhere, but at this point, with neither Eric nor I having health insurance and it being mid-December, it was not a good time for the cold.

"Honey, honey, come back, the bus stop is this way!" I called out to Little Eric.

Little Eric, who had, again, run ahead, stopped and ran back to me, and I grabbed on to his hand so he wouldn't run ahead again.

"Mom, daycare?" Little Eric asked. "Miss Massley?"

I swallowed. "N-No, honey, you won't be going back to daycare just yet. You'll have to wait a little while first."

"Awwwwwwwww," He stomped his feet. "I wanna go back today! Today! Today!"

"I'm sorry, honey, we can't," I told him. "We can't afford it now."

"No," pouted Eric, and he dropped Spots and crossed his arms. I sighed and picked up Spots and tugged Little Eric along to the bus stop, where we sat down next to a very short, round woman who looked like she was dressed entirely in scarves.

"Mommy...Spots! Spots!" Eric shook his hands back and forth and demanded his toy. I gave it to him and he shook it around, moving the hands and shaking him back and forth. I looked into my purse, making sure I was prepared in case Little Eric got bored or upset--his books, a small folded blanket, little bears, and his green sippy cup of warm milk. Yup, I was all set. Feeling prepared, I got out my phone to dial Stan.

"Mooooommmmmmmy!" Little Eric tugged on my arm, distracting me. "Play! Play with Spots!"

I tucked my phone back in my bag and took the dog, picking bits of dust and dirt out of it's fur as I did so. "Alright, sweetie."

Little Eric clapped his hands. "Yay!"

"Spots say hello, Little Eric," I said in a low voice, shaking Spot's legs back and forth in what I hoped was a goofy motion.

"Hi, Spots!!" Little Eric clapped his hands and waved spasmodically at the little dog.

"Hey, Little Eric, do you know what colors Spots is?" I asked, trying to incorporate something educational into what we were doing. I felt bad, to be honest. He'd lost his daycare, which was pretty much the only educational thing he'd had, and I spend almost all my time applying for a job, cleaning, or with Eric. I was an awful mother.

"Red and black!! Red and black!!" Little Eric pointed out each spot and told me what color it was. "Red, red, red, black, red, black, black, red, black, black, red!"

"Very good," I nodded. "What kind of animal is Spots?"

"Dog!" Little Eric clapped his hand. "Woof woof, bark bark! That's what the dog says!"

"That's right, honey," I told him. "The doggie goes woof. What do the other animals say?"

"Cow says moo, bear says roar," Little Eric told me. "And the kitty goes meeeooww! The horsie says neigh, and the piggie goes oink! Those animals live on farms! In the country!"

I nodded. "Good! Good! Can you count to 20, Little Eric?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Little Eric nodded, clapping. "Uh, um...o-one...and, uh...two! Three!"

I noticed the bus pulling up with relief, and nudged Little Eric up. He stood up, still hanging on to Spots with his right hand. "Mommy, I wanna finish!"

"Yes, yes," I told him. "When we're on the bus."

We boarded, and I reluctantly pressed our fare into the palm of the bus driver. From past experience I'd realized when traveling with children under the age of 5 it was important to sit near the back of the bus.

We sat down near the back and Little Eric seemed completely preoccupied with Spots, so I took the opportunity to dial Stan's number and call him back.

"Hello?" I heard a feminine voice pick up, and I could tell it wasn't Stan's agent, Shirley.

"Oh, hi, this is Wendy calling, I, uh-"

"Wendy!" The voice shrieked. "Oh my, it's actually you! Stan has told me so much about you!"

"Is this Lila?" I asked tentatively, praying it wasn't.

"Yes," she told me. "Feel free to call me Lil, though, most people do. I don't really care what you call me, actually."

"L-Listen, you must hate me for what I did to Stan-"

"I choose not to judge people based on what I hear of them," Lila told me. "But enough about me, I'm sure you're here to talk to Stan, right? Oooh, Stan!"

I heard some pattering, and then something that hurt. Muffled from far away, I heard Stan's voice. "Lils, I don't want to talk to her."

"Stan!" I heard Lila lecture in a harsh whisper. "For once in her life she's trying to reach out and connect with you. Do you really want to alienate her like she did to you? Now so help me god you are going to talk to her or I will hold the phone against your ear."

I heard some mumbling, and then Stan. "Hello? Wendy?"

"Oh, hey, Stan," I said, my attitude deflated. "Listen, if my calling is that much of a bother, then-"

"Listen, Wendy, you practically ripped my soul to pieces last time," said Stan darkly, and I could hear the shadows of pain in his voice. "I don't want to ever go through that again."

"You won't," I pleaded. "We're both married now, we both have children, now we can just be friends. Stan, I _need _this. I have no friends, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome--my, my life is spiraling out of control. I just want-"

"Mommy! Mommy, I wanna finish counting!" Little Eric, interrupted, yanking abruptly on my arm. "Five, six, seven, eight..uh, nine!"

"Oh my god, is that your son?!" I heard Lila pipe up from off the line. "He sounds adorable!"

"Tell her yes, that's my son," I told Stan, and then held the phone away from my mouth. "Little Eric, sweetie, Mommy's on the phone right now."

"Little Eric?" Stan asked incredulously, his voice breaking.

"Y-Yeah," I told him, realizing now was really not the time. "My son's name is Eric Cartman, Jr."

"Oh." Stan said, then, "It's typical of that fat bastard to name his kid after him."

"Stan!" Lila and I exclaimed in unison.

"He is her _husband_," I heard Lila lecture him, and then take the phone and speak with me. "Oh, Wendy, I'm so sorry for what Stan said."

"It's-It's alright," I said shakily, aware that both of them were listening. "I can understand where Stan is coming from."

"Thank you, Wendy," Stan told me, and then said to Lila, "Could you please get off the line? I'm trying to have a conversation."

"Awwwwww," sighed Lila, and I heard a click as she hung up.

"She's an interesting character," I told Stan. She seemed alright, but the combined fact that she took Stan from me and she seemed sort of plastic made me hate her on the inside.

"Yeah, she is," sighed Stan, sort of dreamily and sort of exasperatedly. "She is."

"Mommy, I'm hungry!" Little Eric whined. "I want something to eat!"

"Oh, hang on, Stan," I pressed the phone against my shoulder. "Honey, I didn't bring snacks. Mommy doesn't have any food at home. Do you want some milk?"

"Yes! I want milk!" Little Eric laughed, smacking his hands against the base of his chair. "Milk comes from cows! Do you know what cows say, Mommy? Do you? Moo!"

Even Stan had to giggle at that point. I laughed a bit, too, but focused more on the sound of Stan's laugh, which I'd missed more then I remembered. I shuffled through my purse and handed the sippy cup to Little Eric, who sucked on it greedily.

"He reminds me of Penelope," Stan said, attempting to make a connection. "She always loved animals when she was little. When we taught her her first one she wouldn't shut up--ran all around the house, screaming 'Kitty! Kitty' Cat!' nonstop."

I laughed. "Yeah, I got Little Eric a farm animals book for his 3rd birthday, he still loves that thing."

"Hey!" Lila popped back onto the line. "Listen, I am so sorry for interrupting your phone call again, but, we should all go to dinner tomorrow! You, me, Stan, and Eric! The big Eric, of course, the adult one. I mean, it's not a really a toddler restaurant. My treat!"

I was about to tell her I'd love to when I remember I had no money with which to pay for a babysitter or someone to look after Little Eric. "I'd love to, but there's no one to look after Little Eric while we're at-"

"Oh, that's not a problem," laughed Lila. "You can bring him here, Penelope can look after him. My sister Tara lives with us, I'm sure she'd be happy to take care of them."

"...That sounds nice," added Stan quietly. "Wendy?"

"I-I'd have to check with Eric," I stuttered. This was all happening so fast. Dinner with Stan and Lila? So soon? "But, if it's alright with him, I'd love to!"

"Great!" Lila chirruped. "See how easy it is, Stan? Well, see you soon, Wendy!"

The phone clicked and closed. I dropped it into my purse, stunned. Lila seemed...nice. Funny, even. Slightly fake, but still...she was trying to reach out to me because she thought it would make Stan happier.

"Mommy, are we getting off? Park's right there," giggled Little Eric, chewing on the lip of his sippy cup. The bus had come to a stop almost ten seconds ago, and I'd just sat there, flabbergasted at Lila's generosity.

"Of course, honey," I told Little Eric, taking the sippy cup and putting it in my bag. "Keep a tight hold on Spots now."

Eric grabbed Spots in two hands and I wrapped my hand around his arm, leading him into the park. It was a nice, child-friendly place. It was green and there were plenty of trees and squirrels, and a little sand pit in the middle with a climbing gym, monkey bars, and a slide that had four other children in it. There was also a nearby bench which looked ideal for watching Little Eric play from.

"Alright, sweetie, be safe now," I told him, and took Spots and placed him in by bag. Little Eric nodded voraciously and hurled himself with all his might at the playground.

I sat down on the bench, watching my son sit down and immediately start chattering with a little girl who looked a little older then him.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Eric's number.

"Hey, Babe," answered Eric. "How are you and the little guy?"

"We're great," I smiled. "Anyway, guess what?"

"What?"

"Two things," I told him. "First, I called around all morning and finally got a job interview for a position as a telemarketer tomorrow morning!"

"Really?! Congratulations!"

"I know!" I cheered. "I figured we could celebrate by going out to dinner."

"Aw, honey," sighed Eric. "I don't know if we...money's sort of tight right now."

"No, it's alright," I told him. "We've been invited to dinner."

"By who?" Eric's tone turned sour, and I'm sure he guessed.

"Lila!" I told him. "Stan's wife. Stan will be coming too, of course. The best part is, we don't have to worry about Little Eric. We can bring him over to Stan and Lila's house and Lila's sister Tara will watch him."

"Oh, honey, I don't know," breathed Eric. "It'd be so...awkward."

"Eric, honey, it's a free meal," I appealed to Eric's stomach, and then I purred, "I'll be so _happy _if you agree to go."

"W-Well in that case," Eric stammered, and I could almost see him getting red. "If it makes you _that _happy, and since it is free, we have to go, don't we?"

"Oh Eric, honey, I love you!" I giggled euphorically and hung up.

I was going to get a job and I was going to go to dinner. Everything was better now then it had been.


	10. The Life He Lives

**Chapter Author:**

**Blazelove**

**This was originally going to include the dinner as well, but I decided against it.**

**Enjoy, and Merry Christmas. ~**

* * *

The afternoon of the following day, I found myself rummaging through my dresser. Our bedroom carpet was littered with blouses, shirts, and dresses that I had thrown behind me, not suitable for my plans this evening. I was going to see Stan Marsh… I was going to have _dinner_ with him. I don't think that any other happily married woman on Earth would be this ecstatic to see her ex-boyfriend and his wife.

I finally felt a silky texture on my fingertips, and yanked out a black, satin dress with spaghetti straps. Simple, but it was the best I could find. I couldn't think of the last time I had gotten all dressed up.

"Mommy, clothes!" Little Eric squealed and picked up two blouses in either hand.

I had no idea he was behind me. He was so silent that sometimes I swore he was some sort of ninja.

"Y-yes, honey… could you give those to Mommy, please? She needs to put them back," I persuaded and reached for my blouses.

"Okay," he chirped, and put them in my hands.

I managed to fold everything I had scattered into equal stacks in my top drawer, pleasing to the eye. I wasn't a neat freak, but it was nice to see some organization in our household untouched by Little Eric.

I laid my black dress flat out on the bed, and went to our bedroom closet to look for shoes. My belongings were mixed with Eric's, so it became increasingly difficult to find what I wanted in our makeshift closet. I found one silver shoe with a heel and cross straps, and was practically inside the closet searching for its twin.

After several minutes of tiresome searching, I had found the matching shoe as well as the necklace that Eric had gotten me on our anniversary, a small, cut crystal gem in a sterling silver setting. I treasured it dearly, and it filled me with delight when worn around my neck.

The necklace and the shoes coordinated perfectly with each other, and I recall wearing the combination on one of my nights out with Eric. I was still frantic about seeing Stan's face again, in the presence of a celebrity…

I then was focused completely on Stan. I had hurt him tremendously, and I wasn't sure how he or I would react to seeing my face again. One of us would probably end up in tears at the dinner table.

I knew that I couldn't break down like that in front of Eric, and I formulated distractions that normally overcame my sadness to think about if I was encountered with that situation.

Then the paparazzi factor struck me… Stan was a celebrity. There would be no privacy, at least depending on our eating location. They may be used to this and have an undisturbed place in mind. I squealed as I pictured the restaurant, a chandelier dangling above the four of us, dimly illuminating our table as we savored our expensive meal.

"Mommy, I'm hungry…" Little Eric whined.

I sighed, and my fantasy faded. "But you _just_ had lunch."

"I want a _snaaack_!" he demanded.

"Okay, okay…" I responded hesitantly and walked out of the bedroom, Little Eric trotting behind me.

I headed towards the kitchen and found a box of pretzels that was half-empty, and poured a handful into a plastic bowl.

"Here you go," I muttered, and set the bowl on the coffee table. He ran over like an animal and began nibbling on the pretzels.

I looked at the digital clock built-in to the cable box, which read 3:14PM, giving me four hours to get ready before Stan and Lila arrived. Eric's work now ended at 6PM, rather than his old job that would sometimes keep him out past 10. It was nice to have him home earlier, and very convenient for plans such as this.

"If I put on Dora, will you sit here while Mommy takes a shower?" I asked, hopeful.

"Dora, Dora!" he squealed and nodded.

I turned on the TV and started one of the recorded episodes stored in our DVR, hearing Little Eric chime in to the theme song as I walked into the bathroom to take my shower. I couldn't help but giggle. He was so adorable.

* * *

It was 5:49PM now, and I had done my hair, makeup, and gotten dressed. I stopped at every mirror in the house, always feeling conceited as I admired how I looked in my dress.

"Mommy, you look pretty!" Little Eric chirped.

"Thank you, sweetie," I replied and picked him up.

I was still overwhelmed with the fact that I was going to see _Stan_ in an hour. It still hadn't hit me exactly, like when you get a gift you've always wanted but aren't nearly as ecstatic as you imagined or know you should be. I was too stunned.

Eric would be home any minute, and I put down Little Eric so I could sit on the couch. I flattened out the few folds in my dress as I sat on the edge of the couch, and waited patiently.

After a few minutes, the doorknob twisted and Eric walked in the door.

"Daddy!" Little Eric shrieked and ran to his feet.

"Hey, champ," Eric smiled and ruffled Little Eric's hair, and then looked over at me. His face lit up immediately.

"…Wends, you look…" he went on, searching for the right word. "…_gorgeous_."

He walked towards me and I stood up to kiss him.

"Thanks, honey," I replied, beaming. "How was work?"

"Not bad, easier than I'm used to," he explained, still in a trance on me.

"_Good," _I grinned.

"Well, uh…" Eric began, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd better get ready, right?"

"Yeah, we leave in an hour."

"Alright," he replied and kissed me again before getting ready.

Little Eric walked to my feet.

"Where you going?" he asked and tilted his head.

"Mommy and Daddy are going to have dinner together. You're going to stay with Mommy's friend's daughter, I told you, remember?" I explained, playing with his hair.

"Oh," he mumbled.

"Don't worry, honey, you'll have fun with Penelope and Tara," I attempted to convince him.

Little Eric smiled.

* * *

By the time Eric was ready, it was nearly six. I wrapped my arms around Eric as he came out in a tuxedo, one that reminded me of when we were first dating.

"I love you," I cooed, so delighted with everything. I was hardly ever this happy, and it was a great feeling.

I went over behavior rules with Little Eric before there was a knock on the door. I went cold. _Stan._

I sprinted to the door and flung it open, greeted by a man in a tuxedo.

"You must be Wendy Cartman," he smiled.

I nodded, and Eric walked up behind me cautiously.

"Y-yes, that's me," I replied nervously.

"Your ride is here," he chimed, and gestured behind him. In front of our driveway was a slender, white SUV limousine, stretching down the length of the entire sidewalk in front of our house.

I was breathless, and looked up at Eric.

"Holy _shit_," he said under his breath.

"Go right ahead," the man invited, and I assumed he was the chauffeur.

Little Eric ran up to the door, and I held his hand as we made our way to the limo. We needed to drop him off at Stan and Lila's house before we went out, so he had to tag along briefly.

"Wow! Big car!" Little Eric squealed.

"…Yes. _Big. Car,_" I replied, stunned.

We stepped back as the chauffeur opened the door to the limo, and I sucked in my breath. I was about to see Stan Marsh.

The chauffeur opened the wide door, and I stepped in, followed by Eric and Little Eric. The floor was carpeted dark red, and the seats were covered in shiny, black leather. There was a long seat, almost like a booth in a restaurant, that curved around the middle of the car. Softly playing in the background was a radio station playing alternative music. The windows were tinted slightly, but no one could see in from the other side. I scooted in so that the three of us fit on one side of the car.

I gulped, and hesitantly looked up.

He was seated directly across from me, next to Lila who was clearly very excited.

_Across from me was Stan Marsh._

He was in an all-black tuxedo, the bangs of his sleek black hair greased back. He was a lot more toned than I could recall, and his blazer looked amazing on him. I knew that if I looked into his eyes that I would surely lose it, and in front of Eric. But at that moment, I didn't care whatsoever. He was right there. Right _in front of me_.

I couldn't take it anymore, and gazed straight into the deep ocean blue eyes that were Stan's. His expression was empty, almost like he had no emotion. But from his eyes, the eyes that brought back a rush of painful as well as delightful memories, the eyes that brightened every day I was with him, I could tell exactly what he was feeling.

_Pain._

I felt like I was going to burst, right then and there. I bent over and clutched at my chest, the same feeling as when I had left him.

"Wends? Wendy, baby, are you alright?" Eric asked softly, and put his hands on my shoulders.

I nodded and bit my lower lip as I sat up. I decided to focus on Lila. Stan was not there. It was just _Lila. _

_"Wendy!"_ Lila chirped, and put her hands together. "I finally get to meet you!"

"N-nice to meet you," I replied and faked a smile.

"Nice to meet you too, Eric," she continued, and grinned at Eric.

"The pleasure is mine," Eric greeted.

Lila then turned and elbowed Stan in the chest. He blinked slowly and looked at Eric.

"Hello, Cartman," Stan greeted, darkly.

"Hi, Stan," Eric muttered.

Lila looked at Stan again, almost looking like she was begging. Stan sighed and I swore I could hear him gulp.

"W-Wendy," he managed to get out, his voice cracking.

"Stan," I replied and looked down at my feet.

I saw Lila smile at Stan, relieved, and then turned to Little Eric.

"Hellooo! You must be Eric Cartman, Jr.," she beamed.

"Yep! Eric, Eric, Eric!" he squealed, making Lila giggle.

"Wendy, he's adorable," she went on.

"Thank you."

We sat there awkwardly for a few minutes, Lila attempting to make conversation, when Lila gasped with delight as a song began on the radio.

"Stan, it's your song!" she squealed.

"You mean _your_ song," he grinned, wrapping his arm around her.

I recognized it from the first few seconds. It was _Dear Lila._

I watched painfully as Lila attentively listened to Stan's melodic voice, every lyric, one after the other, praising her. Each lyric had symbolic meaning behind it. It was beautiful.

"This is you singing, Stan?" Eric asked, curious.

Stan nodded.

"Damn," he mumbled.

The song playing in the background was a nice, lilting melody. The lyrics intermittently and subtly referenced me, mainly about him going through Hell and becoming suicidal. I tried to tune out the lyrics and I studied my black nail polish as the song carried on, my heart pounding so hard that I shook when it did.

* * *

Eventually, we came to a stop in front of two golden gates, and the chauffeur got out of the limo. He entered a code onto the panel next to them, and they gradually opened, allowing us to pull into the driveway.

The driveway wound around several pine trees, the trees nearly forming a tunnel above us. There was a creek that flowed through one of the masses of pine trees and further down the hill, adding to the already beautiful setting.

"Pretty trees!" Little Eric cried.

The tunnel of trees abruptly stopped and revealed the courtyard of an enormous mansion. I gasped and held my hands over my mouth. …Was this _Stan's _house?

The building was mainly white, consisting of several pillars. The courtyard was mainly bricks, with a patch of grass and a large fountain surrounded by circles of hedges. The sunset behind it made it a picture perfect scene.

"…You _live_ here?!" Eric gasped.

"Yep," Lila chirped. "It's… big."

The chauffeur stopped in front of the stairs that lead to the front entrance, and he got out once more to open the door for Little Eric. He hopped out, and Lila and I went out after him to arrange the babysitting. Stan and Eric waited in the limo as we worked it out, which worried me. They never got along, and especially _after_ what happened, I assume it would be much worse.

I ushered Little Eric up the stairs, my heels clicking with each step, behind Lila. There was another panel alike to the one near the gate, and she hit a red button that activated a camera.

"_Mrs. Marsh, welcome," _a distorted voice greeted from the speaker, and the panel buzzed. Lila opened the front door, revealing the interior which was absolutely breathtaking. The floors were all marble, reflecting the light shown down by the enormous chandelier hanging above the room. A spiral staircase wound around the first room and above, leading to higher levels.

A teenage girl in a green sundress approached the front door.

"Mom, is this Wendy?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Yes, this is Wendy," she grinned, and looked at me. "Wendy, this is Penelope, my daughter. She will be looking after Eric Cartman, Jr. with the help of my sister!"

"Nice to meet you," I greeted, and reached out to shake Penelope's hand.

"A pleasure," she responded.

Little Eric looked up at Penelope.

"Hiiii!" he waved.

"Hello," she cooed and waved slightly back.

"I've already gone over rules with Little Eric, and here's everything you'll need," I began, and handed Penelope a diaper bag full of snacks, toys, and other things.

"Thank you. He'll be safe with us, I frequently babysit," she replied and wore the bag over her shoulder.

"Thank you so much for watching him. I don't know what we would have done," I thanked gratefully.

"Oh, it's nothing," she laughed.

"We'd better be on our way now. Good luck, sweetie," Lila chimed, and hugged Penelope.

"Have fun, Mom," she waved, and we shut the door behind us.

Lila laughed delightfully.

"This is going to be such a blast. It's so nice to get to know you and Eric, Wendy," she squealed as we proceeded down the stairs.

"I'm so glad we get to spend time together… and did I mention how amazing this place is?" I grinned.

"Aw, thanks Wendy… it was all so crazy making the transition to…" she paused and looked around. "you know, _this._ It was really overwhelming."

"I would imagine," I mumbled softly.

We came back to the limo and climbed in again. Eric's face was red, and he seemed enraged. He stopped in mid-conversation as I climbed in.

"O-oh, hey honey," he greeted nervously.

"Hi…" I responded, suspicious.

I glanced briefly at Stan, noticing that his teeth were clenched. I hope to God that Eric didn't say anything to him.

"Are you alright?" I heard Lila whisper to Stan, followed by a brief nod by him.

We continued to drive forward to the restaurant, the rest of the drive rather quiet and awkward without Little Eric's cuteness to break it. I looked at Lila nervously, and she shrugged.

I hoped that the dinner would turn out alright.


	11. Time for Dinner

**Chapter Author: Spectrum Larka**

**Merry Christmas everyone!!**

* * *

The ride would have been awful and awkward had it not been for Lila, who filled the space with random dialect and facts. Really, she would not shut up. You got the feeling she was just throwing topics out there, waiting for one of us to say, "Oh really? I enjoy that as well!" and start up a conversation. I could tell she was trying, but in all honestly it was impossible to not sense the tension flowing between Eric and Stan. I hoped to God that everything would be fine between them.

"Thank you so much for coming, Wendy," smiled Lila for the fiftieth time. "To be honest, I was a little worried you wouldn't accept, but you seem quite happy to be here."

"I am happy to be here," I told her, quite honestly. "All of this is very overwhelming, and it's good to know that I can finally reconnect with Stan after all these years. I had no idea the pain...I'd inflicted on him...had run so deep."

I heard Eric snort, ever so quietly, under his breath, and I elbowed him.

"Stan's doing much better now," said Lila. "After all, it's natural to feel that way after a break-up. And with such a pretty girl like you, no wonder he was so torn up!"

"Why thank you," I laughed, genuinely flattered. I'd thought there'd be aggression, passive-aggresive behavior, but Lila seemed genuinely interested in me. She was the only person here who was trying to be polite and good. "You don't look half-bad yourself."

And she didn't. She was wearing a clingy lilac dress that was form-fit and ended just above her knees. It had shoulders, unlike mine which was spaghetti strap, and at the shoulders were gentle ruffles. It was a backless dress, which made it even edgier, and I'd tried to spy the price tag numerous times. It must have cost quadruple what my dress had.

"Thanks!" Lila giggled, reminding me of a high school sophomore girl. "I picked a lilac dress to match my name!"

How sweet. I hadn't expected Lila to be like this at all. For one thing, she was tiny, maybe 5'2", and since she did modeling I'd expected her to be taller. There was an air of sadness about her, though, but all of her cheer covered it up quite well.

"So, I hear you model," I told her, trying to distract myself from Stan. "How is that?"

"Oh, it's amazing," began Lila, happy to have something to talk about. "Every day our manager brings in doughnuts, but all of the other girls are too self-conscious too eat any, so I get them all to myself! I must admit though, it's quite a challenge. As I'm sure you've noticed I'm only 5'2", which gives me a gigantic disadvantage."

"Well you certainly have the face for it," I complimented, and she smiled and thanked me.

"We're here," said Stan in a pained voice.

The limo pulled to a stop and I craned my neck. The restaurant seemed modest enough in comparison to their mansion of a house, although it was still far too expensive for Eric and I to ever eat their by ourselves. It was well-lit and surrounded by several clusters of pink and purple flower beds.

"Oh no, oh no!" Lila cried out. "I forgot to ask you if you liked Greek. Oh god, what a disaster this dinner will be. You do like Greek food, don't you?"

"Hell yeah," grinned Eric, and I elbowed him again.

"Of course we do," I smiled.

"Good," smiled Stan, for once commenting on the conversation. "It's nice to know some people have good taste in food these days."

"I know!" Lila agreed. "The things kids eat. Those poor children, no idea what they're shoving into their mouths..."

I didn't want to point out that most families couldn't afford to eat at expensive Greek restaurants, that most of us used the dollar menu at McDonalds not because we loved their food but because we had no other choice, but I bit my tongue. After all they were doing for me, I couldn't just mouth off.

"Marsh, party of 4," Lila told the man at the front, and he nodded and motioned for us to follow him to our table.

We all sat down at our square table. Eric was to my right and Lila was to my left, and Stan was right across from me. It was going to be a long dinner. Why had I agreed to this again?

"So, Wendy," began Lila, folding her hands. "Tell us, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a telemarketer," I told her, matter-of-factly.

I'd gone to the interview as the woman had said and the boss and greeted me, asked my name, and then told me I'd be perfect. The whole thing had taken about 10 minutes. Oh yes, I was working a **very **skilled job.

"Oh, really?" Lila seemed genuinely interested. "I bet you meet a lot of interesting people doing that. I mean, people like to mess with telemarketers, don't they? Do you have any funny stories?"

"Actually, no," I admitted. "I begin it this weekend. I haven't had a job up until now because I had to take care of Little Eric at home."

"That's awful," Lila's face creased into a frown, and I noticed how her facial expression changed with almost everything she said. "Still, I bet the little guy enjoys having his mom at home all the time, right?"

I really appreciated what she was doing. Some people would've scoffed at the fact I was a stay-at-home-mom and now a telemarketer, but Lila seemed to be turning everything I said into a positive.

"He sure does," I smiled. "But what about you? Do you spend lots of time with your children?"

"Oh, yes," began Lila brightly. "Penelope has become quite the...social bee, if you will. Although, she is at that age where she prefers the company of her peers rather then myself. Not that I mind, since I have Sarah on my hands."

"Lila, dearest," began Stan in a strained voice. "Why don't you let Wendy and Eric pick out what they're going to eat before starting up a conversation."

"Oh, of course," laughed Lila. "Where are my manners? We've come here so many times I've forgotten that you two don't know what to get."

I opened up my menu and was assaulted with a variety of Greek-sounding dishes.

"May I suggest the Boureki as an appetizer?" Lila added helpfully. "I get it every time we come here, it's my personal favorite."

"Sure, I guess I'll try that," I smiled. "What about you, Eric?"

"I don't know," he began. "I'm stuck between the Patata salata and the Greek Salad. Anyway, I know how you're been wanting me to take off a couple pounds anyway."

"Well, they're both pretty low in calories," Lila told him. "But in my opinion the patata salata tastes better and has a cooler name! And for what it's worth, I think you don't look one pound overweight."

Stan looked like he was clenching his fists under the table and Eric chuckled uncomfortably. "I'm flattered."

"So," Eric began. "How are you and Lila coping with the new baby, Stan?"

Stan tensed up, seeing as no one had addressed him directly the entire dinner. "Well, she's quite the handful, but compared to Penelope she sleeps through the night like a rock."

Lila laughed. "Penelope was a huge handful when she was younger, screaming her face off every chance she could get."

"Déjá vu, huh, honey?" Eric laughed, and I nodded, thinking of Little Eric's frequent temper tantrums.

The dinner continued like this. Stan said very little, and what was odd is that I couldn't find anything wrong with it. Sure, we were all trying to be polite, but Lila seemed genuinely nice, and Stan and Eric's tension didn't ruin the evening. I guess I was so ready for everything to fail and go wrong that I was just searching for ways this evening could fail.

"Are you liking your pastitsio, Wendy?" Lila asked me, pointing with her fork to the baked pasta dish before me.

"It's delicious," I nodded.

I watched as Lila ate her way through three baskets of garlic bread, an entire lamb chop, fries, most of Stan's ravioli, and basically all the food at the table. She was an eating machine! I thought vaguely back to her mentioning eating all the doughnuts at her modeling agency and I realized now she hadn't been joking.

"Damn, you eat a lot," commented Eric, and I elbowed him yet again.

"Yes, it's funny isn't it?" Lila seemed utterly unconcerned with Eric's comment. "I have an extremely fast metabolism, and it burns most of it off. Still, no amount of natural metabolism can do what a healthy diet and exercise can do!"

Eric laughed. "Still, I'd love to swap metabolisms with you."

I was actually enjoying myself. As the night drew on, I began to focus less and less on Stan and more and more on Lila, who seemed...well, amazing, to say the least. She was nice, smart, funny, and I was so focused on finding something wrong with her. She was strange, yes, but that only made her more interesting to be around.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom," said Eric, and he stood up and walked to the back of the restaurant.

"And on that note, I will go get our valet," Lila skipped off, leaving Stan and I alone at the table.

"I won't let you do this again," he said darkly, clearly having waited for this moment all night.

"Stan, I'm not out to hurt you," I insisted. "I want us to be friends again. Can't we at least be that?"

"You hurt me once, and if you hurt me again it will also hurt Lila," he said, gritting his teeth. "I will not let you in again, I cannot let you in again, you will not...be let in...I can't let you in..."

Even as he said it, I could tell he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me.

"Please," I pleaded. "Look at me. Please, Stan, just look me in the eyes so I can prove it to you."

He looked up, his eyes somber. He was looking straight at me. I basked in his glow for half a second before launching into my speech.

"You have every right to be wary of me, after what I did to you," I told him. "But I swear to you on all that's holy that right now I would never do anything to hurt your family. Lila seems like an amazing girl, and so do your daughters, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize that."

Stan's eyes seemed to relax, just a bit. "Well, if you really mean it...I suppose I have missed you as a friend."

"Thank you," I told him. "Thank you."

"I guess Lila was right, after all," he told me, relaxing, his tone becoming more amiable. "She said this dinner would be an opportunity to reconnect with you, and it has been. Wendy, I hope we can be friends."

He stuck out his hand in an awkward gesture, and I shook it. Over ten years. It had been so long, and yet, for the first time, I felt myself healing. Our hands clasped in a symbol of peace and truce, and I could not have been more proud of myself and of Stan.


	12. Resolution

**Chapter Author:**

**Blazelove**

**This huge, ridiculous break is my fault. I think I win the procrastination award.**

**Hopefully, this won't happen again. I'm deeply, deeply sorry.**

Eric sighed contently and leaned back in his seat, grinning. The ride back was much less awkward and silent, and we all seemed more comfortable with each other.

"Thank you so much for inviting us," I began. "It was _wonderful_."

Lila giggled. "My pleasure," she replied, and quickly wrapped an arm around Stan. "I mean, _our _pleasure."

Stan smiled sweetly, obviously a lot less tense. This was exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to be happy again, comfortable, _friendly_ around me.

I gazed out the tinted windows, watching the Colorado scenery rush by as we drove. It was so peaceful, laughing and making conversation like we were old friends.

It wasn't long before we wound back up the path to the manor to pick up Little Eric. Their estate was even more breathtaking at night, as they had a complex lighting system set up that brought out every detail of their house to a new level. I took in a breath and held it in awe, exhaling slowly.

"Holy _shit_," Eric gasped. "…The lights."

Lila giggled for what seemed to be the tenth time. "It's so kind of you to notice! Actually, the whole thing was designed by my sister, she's an architecture and exterior designer, she practically built this place! You can ask her about it, if you want,"

Eric laughed, still beyond impressed. "Oh, I will,"

The limo pulled around the courtyard to where the front stairs began, and the chauffeur opened the doors for us.

Lila gestured her hand towards the door and looked at me, which was probably indicating for me to head out first. I bent over out the door, tripping on my heels on the way out. Eric quickly caught me from the waist before I could tumble to the ground.

I laughed nervously. "Thanks, hun,"

"Careful, Wen," he chuckled, kissing my cheek lightly and stepping to the side to let Lila and Stan out.

Stan stepped out, Lila behind him, and he went ahead of us up the staircase to the front door. Eric wrapped his arm around my waist and I walked beside him up the stairs, not used to having high heels.

Stan hit a series of numbers on a keypad next to their door, followed by a buzz. He tilted the doorknob and the door eased open. The maid, butler, and a few other servants greeted us warmly as we approached the entrance, taking our coats.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Marsh," the butler welcomed, bowing.

"Thanks!" Lila giggled.

Eric and I stepped inside cautiously, absorbing all of our surroundings. Their house was astounding, like something out of a movie. The marble floors sparkled below the chandelier that dangled above us, swaying slightly.

The butler looked at Stan with a tilted head, gesturing to us with a curious expression.

"Oh, sorry. This is my…" Stan began, a hand directed towards me. He was obviously fumbling for a word. "…_friend_, Wendy, and her husband, Cart-- I mean, Eric."

The butler bowed his head respectfully. "Pleasure to meet you,"

I was so overwhelmed. "N-nice to meet you, too,"

I heard quick footsteps echoing, getting louder progressively. I recognized the pattern, and knew it was Little Eric right away.

"Mommy! Daddy!" he shrieked with glee, running to our feet. Eric picked him up in his arms.

"Hey, champ," Eric chuckled, nuzzling him.

Penelope, who was now in a different dress than we saw her in earlier, came from the room that Little Eric emerged from.

Stan's face lit up, and she waved and grinned.

"Penelope, sweetie," Lila beamed, slightly squealing.

"Hello again," she chimed at Eric and I.

"Hi! Thank you so much for looking after Little Eric, it means so much," I replied gratefully.

"It's my aunt you should be thanking," she replied, obviously talking about Tara.

"Ooh, where is she?" Lila asked Penelope, excited.

"She's in the guest room, we were looking after Little Eric there,"

Little Eric nodded and jumped up and down. "The TV is _so _big!"

Lila held up a finger. "One sec, let me get Tara."

She proceeded up a spiral staircase, and I could hear her shout for her sister.

"_Taaraa~_" she wailed.

I heard Tara call back, and Lila disappeared upstairs. I could hear muffled conversation and squeals, but couldn't make out a word.

I glanced at Penelope, who was lightly swaying back and forth. She was so graceful, elegant… I couldn't describe it. She lit up the room, just like her mother. When I looked into her eyes, I could see the resemblance she bared to Stan. It gave me the same adrenaline rush I got when I looked at Stan, which I was ashamed of still having. I looked down, trying to not think about him.

"Wen," Eric cooed softly, nudging me. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine," I grinned, and shot up when I heard Lila and Tara coming downstairs.

Lila was full of delight as she skipped downstairs, Tara following, not quite as sprightly.

"Wendy, Eric, this is my sister, Tara," she chimed, and Tara curtseyed. "Tara, this is Wendy and her husband, Eric."

"A pleasure," I grinned, and returned the curtsey. I had never felt so formal.

"Nice to meet you," Eric greeted with a handshake. "So, you're the one who designed this place?"

She nodded. "Yep. It was a lot of work, but it was so fun to do,"

"It's breathtaking," I added.

"Aw, thank you," she giggled, similar to Lila.

Stan smiled at Tara, and his expression became slightly concerned. "Hey, Tara, is Sarah doing okay?"

"Oh, she's great. Sleeping like a rock," she replied warmly.

"That's a surprise," he laughed sarcastically.

We made friendly conversation for a few minutes, until I felt like we were being a bother.

"Well, we should get going…" I began.

"Aw, Wendy… it was so much fun to get to know you and Eric!" Lila chirped, hugging me.

"We really appreciate it. It's not every day we get to have a nice night out," I replied gratefully.

"Yes, the food was _amazing_," Eric added.

"Our pleasure!" Lila responded.

She paused for a second, and the muffled echoes of a crying baby were heard faintly from upstairs.

"Oh, Sarah…" she giggled, and then pouted slightly. "And we wanted to take you guys back home, too…"

"Aw, don't worry about it. You've done too much already," I replied, grinning.

"No no no, Stan, why don't you go with them?" she asked, hopeful.

His face looked drained of all expression when she suggested this, and rubbed his neck.

"Oh. Uh… sure," he said, reluctantly.

"Thank you!" she chimed, and turned to Eric and I.

"I hope we can get together again sometime," she went on. "It was great seeing you!"

"I do too! I'm glad I got to finally meet you and your family," I replied, cheerful.

"We're happy to have you!" she said as we proceeded towards the door with us.

One of the service workers went ahead of us and held open the front door as we made our way out.

"Bye, Wendy!" she beamed, and hugged me again. "You too, Eric!"

"Nice meeting you," he replied, and shook Lila's hand.

I waved at Penelope and Tara, who were behind Lila. They returned the wave, and Little Eric did so as well.

"Byeee!" he squeaked, waving frantically.

Stan stepped out the door, and briefly kissed Lila. "Be back soon," he replied.

"Thank you," she smiled, grateful.

Stan waved at his family, and the butler closed the front door. He turned to us, and we began to walk downstairs, to where the limousine was waiting. The chauffeur held the door open, and we got inside once more.

Without Lila, I knew the atmosphere would be even more awkward. I hoped that Eric would bring up some topic with Stan. I felt bad that he had to go home with us, and knew that Lila had talked him into this whole thing.

"So, Stan…" Eric began, obviously trying to strike up a conversation. Little Eric moved his arms back and forth, humming to himself cheerfully as he sat between Eric and I.

I sat back in my seat, hoping Stan would reply. I peered at the window as we left the mansion, which was beaming with light. His house was like a dream.


End file.
